


childhood on fire

by littlecreature



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Considered her resurrected, Dorcas vs not wanting to call her mom her mom bcus ISSUES :), Dorcas/OC, Fix-It of Sorts, Loss of Faith, Other, TW: Self Harm, could be considered a companion piece for Everything Has A Price, more like wound reopening idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecreature/pseuds/littlecreature
Summary: IN THE DYING LIGHT , I’M THE ONLY ONE HERE !
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. the air is so dry

She remembers her dark baptism like it was yesterday - well, it was only two years before Sabrina had her own. Prudence and Agatha had helped her get ready, and lead her to the desecrated church, clutching her trembling hands in their own - quietly reassuring her that there was nothing to worry about. Agatha had jabbed her under her ribs with her finger, just before she entered the sacred space - don’t be a baby, Dora. We’ve all done this. 

Father Blackwood had presided over the ceremony as expected, holding her tightly by the shoulders as she drew blood and printed her name in the Book of the Beast. 

The Dark Lord appeared to her two months later, requesting she complete her first dark devotion - to prove her loyalty to her master. She did, with only the eagerness a freshly baptised witch could hold in her heart. Isobel Parris had ended up in the Infernal Infirmary two mornings after the request was made -leg badly broken in two places. So badly broken, her parents had to collect her from the Academy and take her home for adequate rest. It was a such a shame that it had been on the first night of the semester. Dorcas had her standards; she was not going to harm one of the other orphans that had been holed up in the Academy during the summer time. They were her family and Isobel Parris was simply collateral. 

She had followed the train tracks to Gehenna Station, entering and making her way to the desecrated church, slinking past the statue of Hecate ( she’s holding her breath and she’s not sure why. ) It was empty, thank - thank someone. She doesn’t know who to thank for small mercies anymore. She dips between a row of pews, crouching down and rifling around in the back of the bench in front. Her hands clasp around the desired object and she scurries her way out of the church again, back through the academy and along the train tracks that would lead her back to the Spellman Mortuary. She turns her little relic over in her hand as she walks - her old prayer and hymnal book. Every orphan and first year student got one assigned to them as they arrived at the Academy to use during Black Mass. She hadn’t used her in a few years, having memorised every line, every lyric. Down to the punctuation. 

Prayer she could sometimes do without, but she had always loved singing, and had joined the Infernal Choir and soon as Father Blackwood had allowed her, for her twelfth birthday - _a little early_ , he had mused, but she had begged so hard; pales hands clasped so tightly she dug marks into her knuckles — _but your voice is rather pretty and you can hold a lengthy note. Alright. You can join._

Neither Agatha nor Prudence were pleased, having being forced to wait until their own dark baptism before he had relented on any after class activities, no matter how well they could sing. 

She returns to the mortuary, opening the door and making to dash upstairs and keep herself to herself - which is quite how she liked it these days. She’s waylaid briefly in the hallway by Zelda, questioning her where she’s been - _just a walk, promise_. The older witch squeezes her shoulder as she heads past. Normally, Zelda would wrap an arm around her - trying to make up for eighteen years of nothing. But given that her prayer book is currently stuffed down her sweater, she’s glad that she disappears out of the same door that Dorcas had just entered through. 

She makes it up the stairs and into her bedroom without another hitch. The room is small, just enough for one person ( no more sharing - not even with her sisters ) && is decorated sparsely, for now. But she’s appreciative of the light lilac walls - despite being light and airy, is much warmer than the dormitory in the academy, that was shared with a dozen other witches. 

She sets the book down on her dresser and sits on the bed, staring at it. 

Time passes. 

“What do I do with you?” She asks the empty room, leaning back on her hands, tipping her head back. She snaps up again, summoning the book over to her, and it thumps her in the chest. A little too quick, shaky and unsure. She thumbs through it, pausing on certain hymns, humming the tune and tracing over the letters. The book sets itself alight. 

“I hate you,” she hisses, crushing the book painlessly (the flames only designed to harm the item, not the caster) between her fingers as it disintegrates against her touch. The ashes sift on to her bedsheets and with a shudder, she traces the scar on her right hand, the only physical memoir from her dark baptism. The same hands summon a small knife from the bottom drawer on her dresser - part of a set Hilda had generously gifted her for her plant work. 

The knife carves down through the scar - dark beads of blood following not long after. She holds the droplets over the ashes, causing the little black pile to dissolve before her eyes. Satisfied, she reseals the wound and with her hand stinging, she starts to peel the sheets off of her bed, exchanging them for fresh ones from the closet. 

She makes her way to the kitchen, slipping the stained sheets into the pile that was waiting to be washed. She grabs an apple from the basket on the table and biting down. 

“ _Are you going to attend worship tonight, Dorcas_?” She whips around, finding Hilda standing there, wiping her hands on a dish towel. 

“Ah, no. I don’t feel quite well.” Her eyes drift towards the washing pile, && Hilda notices the addition of new sheets and nods sympathetically. 

“ _Right - You go to bed, lamb, never mind the mortuary. I can send Ambrose up with some tea? And maybe your m- maybe Zelda, when she comes back_?” 

“That would be nice.”


	2. your skin splits and doesn’t bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> relinquishing gifts doesn’t mean you get out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw : for mentions of abuse and some minor body horror, maybe one chapter coming? kudos n comments are appreciated! <3

She never did attend that worship session. She did as told — went to bed, took tea from Ambrose and let Zelda sit with her, let her talk about things she had missed growing up in the academy. Her fingers had clenched around the covers, questions dancing in her head. Questions she’d already asked, but she wants to ask again and again until her mouth runs dry. 

She misses quite a few worship sessions, actually. She stays in her bedroom for the duration, pacing the floor && listening intently. If she listens hard enough, she can hear the coven, praising their new deity — she barely even knows Hecate and yet she’s gone through so much because of her. Maybe not quite because of her, but as Prudence so often reminds her; she’s just a little kid in the grand scheme of things and little kids sometimes just project their feelings because they don’t understand them. But she’s eighteen, just like Prudence is nearing her mid twenties and Agatha is just twenty-one, though none of them look a day over sixteen. Even if she 𝘸𝘢𝘴 a little kid, they still have big feelings — they can make choices. 

Dorcas decides, leaning out the window with a stolen cigarette, that she hates Hecate, and hates the taste of tobacco more. 

“Did you know that Father Blackwood” She cringes internally at the use of the name, but she doesn’t have any other name for him. “Was going to dump my body in the woods?” She announces it casually as she trails behind Zelda, Vinegar Tom straining ahead on his leash, determined to chase a squirrel into said woods. Zelda stops and a look of fury crosses her face, yet she says nothing despite her lips twitching with curses that could only be used on a dead man.  
“But I’m scared of maggots and bugs,” She continues, overtaking her mother on the path. “So he didn’t.” 

She holds her hand out and Zelda takes it, she’s trembling a little, reconciling with the fact that yes — her daughter did die and was brought back and she didn’t do anything about it. Left it to the kids. They walk further, silent but hands still clasped together until they stop. Zelda wraps her arms around her, no protests 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦. 

“𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶.” It’s a hard thing to admit, the guilt that’s been burdened for so long. Dorcas kisses her on the cheek and peels away, “but you didn’t.” She shivers, and they make the mutual decision to go back to the mortuary. 

There’s no literature on Hecate — nothing that she can get her cold little hands on. She attends one worship session in the academy, but the place feels far too uncomfortable now. It’s like there’s a thousand eyes watching her even when she’s squeezed in between Prudence and Agatha. She doesn’t really believe what she’s chanting either, candle balanced in her hands. 𝘔𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯, 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦. . . It makes less sense than the satanic tenets did, now that she thinks about it. 

She spends more time in her room, thumbing through tomes stolen from the library. Vinegar Tom was such a good dog. She sits with him on her lap, stroking his short fur. “Other witches don’t seem to have this issue, Tom.” She laments, her mind thinking back over her time at the academy — the fastings, the late night stretching into early morning prayer sessions, the time Father Blackwood had considered her faith to be waning and had grabbed her by the hair and dunked her in the baptismal pool that they used for those for those who converted from the False God. They had to be purged in hot ( 𝘏𝘖𝘛 ) water before being presented to the Dark Lord. He had held her by the neck at ten years old and forced her under the water, still fully dressed and he’s screaming that she’s a 𝘋𝘐𝘚𝘖𝘉𝘌𝘋𝘐𝘌𝘕𝘛 , 𝘍𝘖𝘜𝘓 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓 —. 

She’d let her sisters undress her that night as she shivered, despite the prickling heat of the pool, she was cold in the aftermath with a chill that clung to her bones. They cursed him as they helped her into her nightgown, and in the morning they sit her in front of the mirror and show her how to braid her hair so it sits atop her head. Much harder for their father to grab. 

It takes her less time than she thinks, to figure out how these things go. She finds a page at the back of a very dusty book — about giving everything up. Her heart must be set, she must be sure — must know what it entails. Her heart is set and sure, and she now knows what it entails. 

Between the hours of three and four am, she finds herself on her knees, despite the creak of the floorboards beneath her. Whispering prayer after prayer, to catch someone ( 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨’𝘴 ) attention. 

Silence, defeating silence. She can’t even hear if anyone else is awake, or if they are too be awakened —𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯? She thinks that she’s wrong, that she’s not sure — the Dark Lord must not listen to those who have abandoned him. He shouldn’t, should he? 

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 

The voice inside her head, it’s burning her brain and she clutches at her hair, biting down on already worried lips to stop herself from screaming out in pain. She braces herself against her bed, eventually, panting. 

“I can’t do it anymore,” her knuckles are white against the bed-frame and even he cannot deny that her faith, the one thing that kept her tethered, is long gone. But Lilith has never sat upon the throne, nor did she ever willingly sign herself over to Hecate. So she’s left with him. 

She understands that this, nobody asks of this. Nobody would dare. But she does — she’s still on the floor, but she’s asking. 

Take it away. Take it 𝘢𝘭𝘭 away. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦. 

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 , 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄, && 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 — 𝐅𝐎𝐑 

“For relief,” she groans, imaginary flames licking at her brain — her blood is running hot && she can feel some beginning to trickle out of her nose. Her head comes into contact with metal and her vision flickers. She thinks he isn’t going to say anything, he’s going to let her fit on the floor. Let her ride it out. 

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒. 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃. 

Zelda will find her in a heap on the wooden floor in the morning, foaming at the mouth and blood crusted around her nostrils and mingling with saliva. It’s all very blurry, her recovery — && there’s so many questions. Questions she can’t answer until she can sit up again. 

Zelda’s sitting on the end of her bed again, and asks again — 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥?

She gestures at the bedside lamp, && it flickers — but it doesn’t turn off. She’s not very sorry. 

She’s never seen her mother cry so hard. Isn’t she a failure? Can’t even keep her own lamb in the flock. Dorcas takes her hand, thumb gently running over her knuckles and she knows that she cannot stay here for much longer. Deities that she has severed herself from lurk too close and there is a bloodstain on the floor. Nor does she want to face the long suffering looks and misunderstanding of her sisters — but how can she bring herself to explain the freedom she was now doused in? She can’t. 

Hilda doesn’t ask her to go to worship again.


	3. you’re in too deep this time, you know that?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how tedious mortality is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell I’ve completely ignored part 4 just as a thing altogether? aka Nabrina lives on and Zelda is quite happy with Marie, as she deserves <3

She struggles to feel comfortable in the mortuary once she’s up and about again. Ambrose doesn’t trust her in the mortuary anymore — she’d been helping out previously with the bodies. _Learning the family business._

“ _Nothing against you cous, but it’s quicker when all parties involved are . . . Capable._ ” It’s an apathetic smile he gives her, but she can tell he’s waiting for her to explode on him. She doesn’t know why though, she’s got her mother’s refined sense of rage. Or maybe that is why. Zelda’s tongue is a silver knife and never misses its target. But she nods and tells him that it’s okay, she understands — _whatever_. And as much as it’s nice, to have free time to spend with Zelda or her sisters ... She feels like something of a spare part in the mortuary. Everyone is _always_ busy and she feels like she’s holding everyone back. Hilda swats her out of the kitchen, and her mother is always terribly busy at the academy. So many students needing ferried back to their worried parents. Parents who only attend Black Mass and nothing more. When she was younger; she prayed for a family that would even scrape the bare minimum. Now she has a family and they do too much. 

It’s at dinner one night, she’s poking at the chicken on her plate (her mother had taken control of the kitchen, for what reason, who knows _why_ ) and both of her cousins look even less enthused, if that was even possible. Even Vinegar Tom was turning his nose up at scraps. She’s leaning on her elbow, fork pushing around the veggies at the side of the plate. She’s thinking of going to see her sister’s the next day. The walk to Gehenna was irritating but worth it to see them again. Even though she had seen them that morning. Her mother interrupts her thoughts. 

“ _Dorcas_ ,” Zelda chides, her own fork halfway to her mouth. “ _Dr. Cee is talking to you. Do sit up, dear_.” She looks up, just managing to stop herself from pulling a face at her. 

“What?” 

“ _Your mother has been telling me that you’ve been telling me that you’ve been a bit bored._ ” He begins and she does shoot a glare at Zelda who quickly takes a drink of wine, ignoring her. “ _I was thinking that you could come cover some shifts in the bookstore, when Hilda isn’t working. I can teach you what to do, and it’s decent pay for a starter job._ ” 

She wrinkles her nose a little; still toying with her food. 

“Working ... With mortals?” Her brows shoot up when Dr. Cee nods and both Sabrina and Zelda look as if they’re going to protest at any potential attitude. But they for get that she’s essentially the same as any other mortal, as far as she can tell. 

“Okay.”

She doesn’t actually mind working in Cerberus Books. She gets the hang of it pretty quickly despite her lack of experience. Quick enough for Cee to leave her to her own devices for a shift or two. Trusts her, he says. 

It’s a Monday - late afternoon - and she’s feeling off, when the other part time kid finishes up her shift, leaving Dorcas to do the closing. She’s pretty nice, but not someone who Dorcas would have socialised with otherwise. They goof off on shift sometimes, find the cheesiest books and doing dramatic readings of them when there aren’t any customers. 

Maybe she finds it a little sad that this is what she constitutes as _fun_ these days. Melvin had shown up at the mortuary that morning, requesting her presence. Given that she couldn’t hex him (Sabrina had informed her of his little stint with Elspeth) to oblivion, she had simply pointed to the graveyard in the garden and curtly told him that his favourite fuck was lying over there, and slammed the door on him. 

She doesn’t cry — but she thinks it’s a shame, because she had thought he was actually nice. Shame shame _shame_. She hurries off to work, the January frost crunching under her boots. Well, Sabrina’s old winter boots. Most of her old clothes couldn’t be recovered from the academy, and they all agreed that they were all pretty ... Outdated, especially if she was going to work. So she was stuck wearing Sabrina’s hand me downs, at the moment. Prudence had scoffed at her, noting that the clothes were a little too _short_. She resolved to ask her mother to help her rework them into her size and style that night. 

“We’re closing soon, you know.” She sighs from the counter, watching a boy slink between the shelves, occasionally picking up a book and then setting it back down. 

“ _Sorry, I didn’t realise the time._ ” He holds his hands up, stepping into the light. She recognises his curls first, then the voice second. “ _Hi Dorcas._ ” 

“Caelum? Caelum Ackerley?” She asks in surprise. He had been the year above her at the academy — the last she had heard, he hadn’t made it out of Blackwood’s last act as high priest. “But you’re supposed to be—“ 

“ _Dead. I could say the same for you.”_ He gives her an impish grin, finally picking up a book ( Stephen King’s _Doctor Sleep_. ) and sliding it across the counter for her to ring. 

“ _I won’t ask questions if you won’t._ ” He offers, “ _how much?_ ” 

“Twelve dollars.” They exchange money and book, the cash register being the only thing making noise. 

“ _Can I walk you home?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments appreciated <3


	4. i know i know.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i look up at the gaps of sunlight, i miss you more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s a little bit cheesy, i know.

Zelda Spellman does not like Caelum Ackerley, that much Dorcas is sure of. Which she finds to be quite _unfair_ given that she lets Nick and Sabrina have run of the house at any given moment. 

“Mother,” she complains, perhaps a little rashly, as she helps clean up after lunch, a warm ray of soft sunshine fills the kitchen with light. “Just let him stay the night. Please?” 

“ _I don’t think so. Not after the position I found the pair of you in last Friday_.” Her mother waves her hand, sending the plates clattering back into their space in the cupboard. 

“That wasn’t so bad—“ 

“ _In the church, Dora!_ ” The matriarch snaps, fury teeming at the edge of her voice. Dorcas can’t help but snicker a little — but the look her mother gives her shuts her right up. 

“ _That poor boy..._ ”

“Oh, give over.” Dorcas snorts, dropping the last of the clean cutlery into the appropriate drawer and shuts it. “Melvin deserved to see that, you know it.” 

“ _Dorcas!”_

Caelum sneaks in the window anyway — which could have been completely avoided, had Zelda only said that he could stay the night. She should know by now that strict parenting (if you could call having a daughter raised by your ex-husband before he was your husband _parenting_ ) creates sneaky children. She raised Sabrina, didn’t she? Well Sabrina was barely a patch on a Weird Sister. 

Ever since he had popped into the bookstore — the two were nigh inseparable. He walked her back to the mortuary after her shift and they would stay on the porch, chatting until Hilda or more threateningly, Zelda appeared at the front door, gesturing for her daughter to get in the house, _right now_. 

“Sabrina told me you were all but begging her to take part in Lupercalia!” She had argued one night; after Zelda had so rudely cut Caelum off from kissing her. 

_“ _That was different! This is different! You’re my daughter!_ ” _

_“And she’s practically your daughter too! Why am I the only one seeing the hypocrisy here?!”_

The arguments stopped eventually (“You raised her more than you did me!”), when Caelum’s presence didn’t just go away, as Zelda had hoped - they both tire of arguing and come to a silent, mutual agreement of _do what you want, I suppose I can’t stop you. She hadn’t counted on them bonding over their religious abandonment. She should had known better._

__

__

Caelum tells her one night, curled up on her bed with their heads bent together, his lips mere inches from her ear. 

“ _After the whole incident with Blackwood, I decided I didn’t want to stick around_.” His lips move to press against her temple. “ _I couldn’t be preached to by a man who thought it would be best to cull his whole coven. I’m surprised you stuck around._ ” 

“I had to stay with my sisters... And I’d just found—“ 

“ _Zelda. I know._ ” He nods, guiding her to face him with two fingers pressed underneath her chin. But he’s not forceful about it. He lets her lean in to kiss him. She does, risking the creak of her bed and slides on top of him, but brings her head to rest in the crook of his neck. “ _My parents weren’t too happy, but I was an adult. What could they do?_ ” He chuckles suddenly. “ _Was the Dark Lord as happy with you as he was with me?_ ” 

“If happy means leaving me to seizure throughout the night, sure.” 

“ _I’m sorry_.” His hand drops to her lower back, thumb stroking over the exposed skin. She shrugs delicately and concentrates on matching her breathing to his. There’s some magic in the two of them just lying there. She doesn’t need her craft for that.

It’s leading into summer (her favourite time of year) and he holds her hand as they walk back from Gehenna station, having witnessed a very cobbled together memorial-slash-graduation at the academy. (Though she personally did not see why Elspeth’s name was on the memorial list. She had betrayed the coven at the end of the day.) It’s weird, seeing her mother address the school as a whole, making plans for classes to return as normal the next year. Most of them, have essentially been excused from their studies — they’ve proved themselves to be capable members of the coven and as high priestess, Zelda will help them get back on their feet as they enter the world outside of the academy. Nick and Sabrina make the decision to stay on, have some normalcy for once in their relationship. They’ve got issues to work through. She wants to talk to her cousin about what she’ll do about the infernal realm, but she doesn’t get a chance. Maybe that’s for the best. They’ve never been the closest, but they seem to be drifting even further apart after a period of gentle reconciliation and showing each other their baby photos. Dorcas had a pitifully small pile of loose prints compared to Sabrina’s stack of professionally bound books – but that was just plenty more to laugh at. 

Prudence and Agatha are offered positions within the academy, which are readily accepted, especially since there would be a new influx of students and Zelda would need all the staff that she could get. Dorcas did feel that adding Marie on to the staff, especially as joint director, was quite the show of nepotism, but she couldn’t deny her mother her happiness could she? 

Even if it was a little odd to see her acting so... girlish. Blushing whenever Marie kissed her on the cheek, or gripped her by the waist. She liked Marie, the woman had slotted herself right into the ever expanding family like she had always been there. 

“ _You listening, Dora?_ ” Caelum’s voice breaks through her reverie with a squeeze of her hand. 

“Yes. No. What?” Her cheeks are tinged pink but she’ll protest that it’s down to the sunshine and the wine they had after the ceremony. The entire coven was heading back to the mortuary to continue celebrations, and as much as she was always game for a party, it didn’t feel right. 

“ _I asked if you wanted to maybe go travel?_ ” He repeats, eyebrow raised at his girlfriend’s slightly dazed state. 

“Like, now? With what money, Caelum?” 

Working at Cerberus’ did not offer a lot of money, even if she did do more shifts. Zelda had given her a lump sum of money — a compensation; for leaving her at the mercy of Blackwood for so long. She had accepted, but it wasn’t enough money to just disappear on. Even she knew that. 

“ _I have money, you know that_.” A month or so after Caelum had officially asked Dorcas out, he’d heard news that both of his parents had passed away. Dorcas had been surprised, but comforted him all the same. They had been older, much older parents — he had said that he had known it was coming. But he still leaned into her arms when she offered up some respite. The Ackerley’s had been a well off family within the coven, leaving Caelum with enough money to fund whatever lifestyle he wanted. 

His lifestyle involved refurbishing a mortal camper van. By himself. Dorcas had sat on the porch of the mortuary as he worked on it in driveway, much to Zelda’s distaste. Ambrose had helped out occasionally, sneaking the use of some magic to speed things along. 

Or, you know — charming the vehicle so that it never runs out of gas. 

She couldn’t lie — the interior was pretty impressive if slightly cramped. Still impressive. 

“Caelum Ackerley, are you suggesting that we run off and live in your van?” 

“ _Yes, actually._ ” His smile dazzles in the sunlight and he pulls her close, nearly causing her to stumble on the train tracks. “ _We could leave tomorrow — go wherever we want. We don’t need to go forever. A year. Come back to Greendale whenever you want._ ” 

She thinks about it the rest of the walk home — and he thinks that he’s said the wrong thing. Of course she won’t want to leave. Her sisters, her mother is here. He can’t ask her to leave that all behind. 

“ _Any thoughts?_ ” He asks as they head up the front steps, hearing the faint chatter from the rest of the coven inside the house. 

“Give me a few hours.” She replies, lifting his hand so she can kiss it, before they head inside, the scent of Hilda’s cooking hitting them as soon as they enter. 

The party has been going on for hours when she finds him out on the porch. It’s their own little sanctum, really. She had been waylaid by her sisters mostly — both ecstatic about their new positions, which they don’t know how long they’ll hold for. Agatha says that she wants to go travelling — maybe get some answers to the mystery of her parents, if she wants. Dorcas agrees that it would be a good idea. She’s excited for them too, of course. Especially delighted as Prudence and Ambrose seem to be getting friendly again. 

They all deserve to be so happy. The idea of leaving them hurts her. The idea of leaving Zelda hurts her even more. Her mother is sociable, chatting with older witches and warlocks — introducing her to so many people that she can barely catch her breath. 

“ _It’s been so good to have you, Dora._ ” Zelda kisses her forehead, smoothing her hair out of the way. Dorcas hugs her fiercely, catching the older witch off guard. “I know, mom. I love you.” 

“ _I love you too darling._ ” 

“ _Warm?” Caelum asks from around his cigarette. He’s perched on the back of the bench, his feet resting where his ass should be._

__

__

“Mhm.” She answers, glass of barely touched rosé wine in hand. With all the grace of Salem, she hops up beside him — not spilling a drop of wine. 

“ _You’ve been thinking. Hurt yourself?_ ” He offers the cigarette too her, and she refuses with a shake of her head, trying to stop a smile curling on to her lips. 

“Oh, shut up.” She takes a drink of wine and it’s refreshing against the humidity of the evening. She reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers. “I think you’re right. We should go off and see things. Greendale’s pretty small.” He grins at her response, about to make a move to get up — start getting ready. “On one condition, Ackerley.” She stops him and he stares at her, bemused. 

“ _Yeah? What’s that?_ ” 


	5. but it feels like home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time passes, and you wonder, is it me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've all enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and thank you for reading.

She stares into the mirror in the dingy little hotel room in some tiny little village in the north of Scotland - the landlady was nice enough, if slightly nosey - eyeing the brilliantly white package under her arm as they checked in.

“ _Wedding_?”

“Mhm.”

“ _You both seem a little… young._ ”

Caelum had thrown the woman a reproachful look, and as they made their way up the less-than-stable staircase to their room, he whispers “ _I’m glad we’re only staying here for one night_.” Dorcas hits him over the shoulder with the package.

Now here she was, smoothing the black satin skirt down. She had only chosen black because white didn’t feel correct, and despite having the whole rainbow to choose from; the traditional dress for the Church of Night was what called to her. It was something she had dreamed of as a young girl and who was she to deny herself something so long wished for? She shuts her eyes - thinking, that when she opened them again, she would be surrounded by the people she needed most right now: her sisters and her mother. Prudence would help with her make up, Agatha her hair and Zelda would most likely be smoking away, making last minute appraisals on how she looked. On how all of them looked. But when she opens her eyes and looks around, she’s still in the same tiny room, the tartan throw on the bed brightening the otherwise dull colour scheme.

_Leaving Greendale had been horrendous. As they were quietly packing up the van in the early hours of the morning, a cold wind had swept over the couple and Zelda with the two remaining Weird Sisters had appeared from the house, fire in their eyes._

_“Where do you think you’re going?” Zelda had spoken firmly and barely raised her voice - yet the words seemed to fill the surrounding area. “Sneaking away in the middle of the night?!” She brandishes the letter Dorcas had set on the kitchen table merely two minutes beforehand. “Married, Dora? Eloping?”_

_Evidently, neither Prudence or Agatha had gotten the chance to pry the letter from Zelda and Caelum feels the effects of it, being knocked off his feet by a hex, and she doesn’t know which sister sent it his way._

_“Leave him alone!” She yells back, rushing to help him to his feet. A dirty trick on part of her sister’s - neither her or Caelum had any substantial magic left in them, no ability to retaliate. She touches Caelum’s face, his arm around her shoulders, but she struggles still to keep him upright._

_“What are you doing Dora? Running off… With a boy? Are you mad?” Prudence starts, but it’s Agatha who gets to them first, grabbing her sister’s wrist, ready to wrench her away from Caelum. “You have to be mad,” the raven-haired girl tells her through clenched teeth. “You won’t be safe out there! Whatever the Dark Lord did to you - taking away your powers… Your name is still in the book! You aren’t mortal, you won’t be able to roam undetected by other covens. They’ll kill you.”_

_She stands her ground, even as Agatha pulls on her wrist and Caelum manages to stand by his self. “We’ll be fine,” she assures her sister. “If we focus, we can still pull off a cloaking spell.”_

_“If you concentrate,” Prudence laughs cruelly and folds her arms over her chest. “What have you done, Caelum? Did you bewitch her from afar? Do you still have your powers, and you’re going to indoctrinate her into another church? Take her far away from here? From us, her family? And I was starting to warm up to you.” Prudence stalks forward - but not as close as Agatha had gotten -, her eyes narrowed and gleaming in the moonlight. She stops, lips sinking into tight frown._

_“Have you gotten her pregnant, Caelum? Had a little too much fun with my little sister? With the daughter of the High Priestess? Is that it?” Her nostrils flare in anger and she looks as if she’s about to forgo any kind of magic and launch herself at Caelum and take him down herself, her hands being the only weapon she would need. He doesn’t get a chance to answer as Dorcas pulls out of Agatha’s grip, halfway in front of him. It was rare that she stood up to her eldest sister - in fact, she can’t remember the last time they went toe-to-toe over something that wasn’t petty squabbling._

_“I asked him to marry me. I made him promise.” She snarls, staring up the blonde. “I told if he wanted me to go away with him, spend all that time alone together, he better get a ring in order.”_

_Of course, there was no ring at the moment - but she had his word. And that meant more than any ring. Prudence glares back at her - slightly amused that Dorcas actually had the guts to stand her ground on this issue. “And to your minds at ease, no, I’m not pregnant.” She adds, rather hastily._

_“Fine, if you want to ruin your life, be my guest, Dorcas. Go ahead. But when you realise - when you realise what you’ve walked away from, don’t you dare come crawling back to me.”_

_The eldest Weird Sister had turned on her heel and swept out of the front yard, Agatha following quietly after. It’s her, Caelum and Zelda. Caelum continues to lock up the van, having shaken off the hex her sister’s had knocked him down with._

_“I’m sorry.” Her voice carries into the night sky, and she wonders if her mother has even heard her. But she notices the heave of her chest as she sighs._

_“I don’t think you are, darling.” Her mother’s voice is thick and she tightens her grip around the letter in her hand. “But who am I stop you? You’re an adult, you’ve had your dark baptism… I’m sure you’ll be fine.”_

_She wants to run to her mother and wraps her arms around her and cry and beg that no! She’s not an adult, she’s still just a child, she’s her little girl and there’s so much that they have to catch up on, of course she won’t leave! But she doesn’t. She’s stuck to the spot, her hair lifting in the gentle breeze that’s coming from the west._

_“Right.”_

_She clambers into the passenger seat of the van, and it roars into life. They make it to the end of the drive and she glances in the mirror and she sees the reflection of her mother, still watching from the porch._

That had been two years ago and a knock on the room door drags her out of her thoughts. Caelum pushes it open before she can even tell him too and his smile somehow grows even larger as he holds out his hand. He looked quite sharp in his rented suit, his hair perfectly curled as usual.

“ _Don’t you look beautiful._ ” He helps her slip into her coat and she blushes, “and you look rather handsome, Ackerley.” She reaches turns her head to kiss him and he pulls away, a teasing smile gracing his features.

“ _Ah, ah - I’m saving that until I can call you mine, officially. Now, come on. The court house is just down the street_.”

She follows him diligently, her heart thrumming hard under her dress. No more Dorcas Night - she’d never really picked up on the Spellman moniker, and Night only served to remind her of her previous status as an orphan, as a helpless ward of the Church of Night. But here she was removed from any of that. They run down the main street, Caelum careful not to let her trip over the cobbles.

The court house is incredibly simple, which is exactly what they’re looking for. The officiate raises an eyebrow at her dark dress, but says nothing, though they can both tell that he’s wary of the vows they’ve written themselves.

‘ _I promise to be your guide on a path between two worlds, to keep you safe and humble, and live our days to the fullest, on our own and with our interests at heart_.’

She thought it was quite beautiful, and after exchanging two simple gold wedding bands, he sweeps her off her feet and kisses her deeply. Mrs Ackerley at last.

The years between their marriage and their first child were something of a blur - but Caelum kept his promise. He showed her the world. Well, most of it. Scotland had only been the starting point (Dorcas had only put it as a need to go place due to the fact that Prudence had already been there and boasted of the lush beauty despite the desperate situation she and Ambrose had been in when they made it there.) and from there, they made their way around the UK, before travelling to the continent.

France was beautiful, and she found herself face to face with monuments she had only seen in books. Spain, Germany, Norway, Ukraine … They all had their own merits. They never really encountered the issues that Agatha warned them of. When they were in Kyiv, there had been a group that stared at them from across the European Square, and there had almost been a silent stand off. The group had the aura of coven surrounding them and Caelum had hurried them out of the area, not wanting to draw attention to themselves, or start something they would ultimately be unable to handle.

They strayed further, tackling mortal ways of travel given they couldn’t simply magic themselves to their destinations. She found India to be too busy, but getting lost in a crowded market in Agra was something spectacular. Australia was her favourite by far, and it was there that they were making plans to fly to Recife from Brisbane, and eventually make their way back up to the states - their poor, battered van had already been shipped ahead. Maybe chance going home. Which would most likely be a terrible idea - they’d tried to keep in contact with the order over the years, sending letters and photos, which eventually dwindled down to scribbles on postcards, to eventually just postcards that held whatever their current address had been in the hopes that someone would write back. No luck. They had all been addressed to her mother, but Dorcas had developed a sneaking suspicion that either one or both of her sister’s were intercepting the mail and stealing them before Zelda could get her hands on them.

They’re sitting in the living room of their rented apartment, it’s mid-evening, a box of half eaten pizza is on the coffee table. She’s on the floor, sorting out travel documents with a cold cloth pressed to the back of her neck. It’s too warm, even though the windows of the apartment are open and she’s sitting in a tank top and her underwear. Caelum enters the room silently, stretching his arms over his head; a yawn contorting his face briefly.

“ _Found something in the bathroom._ ” She looks up at his words, and he’s dangling the pregnancy test she’d left on the counter in front of her face. He’s smiling. So she does too.

“I wondered how long it would have to lie there until you noticed it.”

“I love you.” He leans across the table to kiss her, stroking her long hair out of the way. “So,” he breaks away from her eventually, fingers tilting her chin up. “I can be assured that you throwing up the past the week hasn’t been a result of my cooking?”

With Caelum being the sole heir to his parents comfortable fortune, travelling had never been an issue for them. They had the money to spend on gas, on tickets and on accommodation. Preparing for a baby quickly divulged itself to be a completely different ball game, even with all their money at their disposal. There were prenatal appointments to attend too, furniture, toys and clothes to buy - and so, so much information to remember.

She breaks one night - it’s four am, and she’s sitting on the side of their bed, feet resting on the cool wooden floor. Her stomach is poking out a little, the first sign of a bump and it terrifies her. At the end of thirteen long months (they had lied like hell at the hospital, swearing she was further along than she actually was) there would be a little… person in her arms. One that would fully rely on her and Caelum to keep alive.

She finds herself at the phone before she realises what she’s doing and dialling the international extension and then number for the Spellman Mortuary in Greendale. It rings out, but eventually someone answers.

“ _Spellman Mortuary, this is Zelda_.”

She hangs up instantly. The one woman she wanted to speak too, the only one who would be able to calm her down, and she couldn’t do it. She could imagine her mother scoffing as she set the phone down again, complain about time-wasters and how rude it was, did they not know she had both a business and a school to run! She nearly laughs.

The next year, she welcomes her son into the world. Screaming, they’re both screaming as he arrives, his hair coiled and naturally fiery. Despite being covered in blood, and the fact that she’s definitely seeing two babies, she think he’s the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. Arran Ezra, she decides on. Caelum likes it. Arran himself seems to like it. He’s a happy baby. A slightly less happy child when he is three, and he is gifted a sister by the name of Lourdes Liliana around Yule-time.

She’s still been sending postcards, little pictures of her children tucked into the envelope.

Still, she hears nothing back, and she comes to the conclusion that the Greendale coven truly don’t want anything to do with her. She doesn’t forget them, though. As wary as Caelum is around magic, even he knows that her family were still important to her, even if she was the one that ran away. She tells both her children stories - of how her mother is so fearless, her sister’s her pillars, and her cousin - who was willing to lay down her own life for her family. They’re toned down stories, they try not to mention magic - fearing that mentioning something like the infernal realm might unlock something in their bones. Of course, she shouldn’t have been so relaxed about it, and the trouble starts when Arran is eight, Lourdes five.

She knows that her eight year old shouldn’t be able to move the side table from beside the front door to the other end of the hallway, not without touching it, anyway. Lourdes definitely shouldn’t be able to float from the top of the stairs to the bottom and laughs as Caelum dives to catch her, fearing her falling. He cradles her in his arms, checking her over for any bumps of bruises.

“ _Did you see Daddy? I flew!_ ” She crows, bouncing on to the balls of her feet, her smile big and she’s clearly pleased with herself.

“ _You did_.”

They argue long into the night after the children have been put to bed. She’s pacing around the kitchen as he sits at the table, fingers digging into his cheeks. She wants to go back to Greendale - can they deny the facts any longer? The kids have gifts, Caelum! We can’t train them when we can scarcely demonstrate - you and I both know that theory is not enough!

“I _’m not going back there! Dora, honey - we both died. You twice! It’s insanity that you’re even considering this_!”

“Where else do you propose that we look then?!”

He has no answer, and sleeps on the couch that night. Dorcas doesn’t end up sleeping alone. Arran sneaks into her bed, having overheard the arguing.

“ _Are you going to leave Daddy_?” He asks quietly, his big eyes blinking in the darkness and she pulls him close, kissing his temple. He had always been so perceptive, she shouldn’t have trusted him to have slept through it.

“No, sweetheart. Of course not.”

The arguing continues the next day, only to be stopped by the arrival of the morning mail. She scoops up the letters, and finds a handwritten one addressed to both of them, with an American stamp on them. The rips it open and scans the contents.

Sabrina.

Of course, her cousin, in all her unholiness had been keeping tabs on them. At first, she’s furious. Why hadn’t they said anything? Reached out? Replied to any of their letters? After a moment, she realises that they must have felt the same as she did - they wanted space, and mutual respect and then suddenly, the years had disappeared, and here they were.

‘ _You cannot deny them their heritage, Dora,_ ’ Sabrina had written, signing the letter off with Mrs Sabrina Scratch. She tosses the letter down in front of Caelum and he picks it up.

‘I’ll take them and leave without you.” It’s less of a threat and more of a promise and he knows it. The next week if spent planning, packing and hyping their children up for the trip. Arran asks a million questions about his extended family that had been answered before. Lourdes is enamoured with the new clothes that she acquires for the trip, twirling around in the dresses and prancing up and down the hall as both of her parents dash about, finalising everything. The day they leave Brisbane comes far too quick, and Dorcas feels quite mournful, staring around the house that they had made theirs in the past eight years.

“ _We’ll be back by the end of the month_ ,” Caelum promises as they unload their cases at the airport. “ _Don’t worry_.”

All she does it worry, all the way through security and on to the plane and across the Atlantic. Both children and husband are knocked out within the first hour, so she spends most of it alone, thoughts rolling over and over in her head. Is she making a massive mistake? The knot in her stomach only gets worse as they land at their final destination and find a rental car.

The drive to Greendale is long, especially since they have to pull over she has to jump out, getting Lourdes out of the car so the poor girl can throw up in some grass. She pats her back and wipes her face down. “My poor baby,” she whispers, trapping her back in to her carseat. “You try and go to sleep, alright?” Mother’s love always seems to win out, and there’s peace for the rest of the drive. As they turn into the town, Caelum grabs her hand at the first stop light and squeezes it.

“ _You’re okay?_ ”

“No - but I don’t have much choice at this point, do I?” She squeezes his hand back before the light changes and they have to start up again.

The mortuary hasn’t changed much, as they pull up outside. There are various academy students that she doesn’t recognise, all helping out in the gardens and she spies a recognisable figure. Hilda. She’s helping a young girl pick some fruit off of a plant and jumps when Dorcas speaks from behind.

“I remember you once called me a prize pupil in botany.”

“ _Dorcas! What - how, when_?” The witch regards her with a shocked look, before wrapping two arms around her. “ _Unholy gods, Zelda will be_ -“

“ _Zelda will be what_?” The matriarch of the Spellman’s had appeared at the door of the stairs leading up the porch and when Hilda moves out the way to reveal the redhead, her mouth drops open and she can’t seem to stop herself from welling up with tears.

“ _I thought - I thought you wouldn’t ever come back_.” She whispers, finally. She needn’t have whispered, given that the students around them had halted to a standstill, watching the reunion.

“You never replied to any of my letters.”

“ _I - I didn’t have the words. But I kept them._ ” So her sisters hadn’t played any tricks. She’s about to respond, when she hears the car’s doors shutting and small footsteps hurrying over.

“ _Are these_?” She hears Hilda ask and Dorcas nods as Arran and Lourdes appear at her sides, peering up at the two adults.

“Arran, Lourdes… This is your Great Aunt Hilda,” there’s a little huff from Hilda, “and your grandmother, Zelda. You remember I told you about them?”Arran nods and Lourdes is instantly tugging at the bottom of Zelda’s skirt, wanting up. Her mother responds automatically, scooping up the dark haired girl.

“ _I threw up on the way here_.” Is how she greets Zelda, and for a moment, Dorcas holds her breath, before Zelda lets out a laugh so loud, some of the nearby students jump and look in surprise.

“ _That’s a shame, isn’t it? Perhaps we should get you in out the sun, hm_?”

“Okay.” Lourdes nods, and Zelda offers her hand to Arran as Caelum wraps an arm around Dorcas’ waist, their overnight bag slung over one shoulder.

“ _Hilda, end lessons early today - send the students back the academy and then please send for Prudence and Agatha, I’m sure they’ll want to be here_.” Zelda instructs, and Hilda sets to work, gathering her class together. As the Ackerley’s and Zelda approach the mortuary, Zelda pauses in the doorway.

“ _You’ll be staying, won’t you_?”

Dorcas looks to her husband, and he leaves the answer up to her. He’s come this far for her - nothing phases him anymore. And with the way the coven looks… It seems safer than it had done a decade ago. Maybe there was less harm now.

“Of course, mom.”


End file.
